


For Tonight, at Least

by rane_ne



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-up Frisk, Conjured skeleton boner, Frisk is extremely curious, In more ways than one, M/M, Male Frisk, Purely PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rane_ne/pseuds/rane_ne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk is curious; Sans indulges him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Tonight, at Least

**Author's Note:**

> Contemplated publishing this for ages and finally thought 'why not?' There's a severe lack of male!Frisk/Sans fics out there, and I _soooo_ wanted to contribute to the sin-brewing.  
>  Purely PWP, self-indulgent, and done in the late hours of the night. I don't normally write these kinds of things, so please excuse any inaccuracies/OOC-ness. Enjoy!

Frisk blames it on his curiosity.

That him lying here in his bedroom, blinds shuttered and delicate rays of moonlight filtering through the window’s cracks, exposing the flushed skeleton perched over his lap, is because of, simply, pure _fascination_.

It’s definitely not his fault, the way his hands wander across an array of scarred bones, exposed and strangely vulnerable without the usual thick jacket and turtleneck covering them, their owner’s eyes dimmed to mere slivers of light inside lidded, black sockets. It’s definitely not something he’s putting a stop to, either, fingers slippery with sweat and beads of sticky gloo as he moves to tease Sans’s materialized ‘boner,’ pulsing thick with each lazy, jerky movement of his wrist. But it’s nothing that he’ll regret later; with how completely _gutted_ the stouter monster sounds, gasping through clenched teeth and knitted bone-brows, his sockets lowered _so_ , so that Frisk can hardly make out the dash of sapphire glinting inside his left eye, the eighteen-year-old feels certain that Sans is enjoying this even more than he is.

So he indulges his best friend as much as he’s being indulged right now.

Without ceasing his ministrations, Frisk leans in close and brushes lips against the other’s sternum. Liquid fills his tongue at the brief contact, droplets of neon sweat collecting at Sans’s temple only to slide down the empty holes of his eyes and past his cheek like transparent tears. He dips his head to the hollow space where the skeleton’s ear would be if he were human, whispering obscenities so coarse and vulgar that Sans’s grip on his arms tightens imperceptibly, skull snapping up to gaze, surprised and deeply aroused, at the teen’s innocent smile. 

From the tell-tale way Sans’s pupils have begun to dilate, glazed and saturated with that lovely, mesmerizing blue glow, pre-cum practically bubbling from the tip of his boner and femurs shuddering harshly against the sides of the human’s thighs, Frisk knows he’s almost at the peak of his release. Just one more touch, and he’d be all but done.

The brunet grins, firm grip holding the smaller, surprisingly light body steady as he gives a hard thrust into the opening of Sans’s ischium, words hissed low and sensual beside the monster’s ear,

_“Come for me.”_

It’s more – _way, way more_ – than enough to send Sans flying off the deep end, bones clacking together in throbbing waves of ecstasy; head thrown back, eye-sockets clamped shut, legs and thighs and _everything_ trembling with release. Strings of cum spurt from his boner, painting Frisk’s shirt and neck in colorful splashes of navy. It’s decidedly _filthy_ , the warm sensation of monster spunk dripping down his throat and pooling at the top of his collar—and yet he knows he won’t be washing this shirt any time soon. 

When it’s over, Sans slumps down onto him, exhaustion dousing the usual composure in his eye-lights, the after-effects of his release staining his cheekbones a beautiful, flushed cobalt.  
*kid,  
He murmurs, voice rough and broken, thoroughly and utterly spent on top of the human,  
*you are one hellva freak, you know that?

To which Frisk replies with a smirk, trailing fingertips along the sensitive gapes of those hollow ribs, down to the scape of his pelvis, and effectively reducing the skeleton’s smug grin into a wavering, nervous smile.

“I know I am.”

Eyes hooded, he continues to run a thumb over Sans’s coccyx area, wondering how it would feel to have actual flesh under his hands, rolls of fat spilling onto his body as Sans hovers over him, feral eyes alight with fervor, his weight solid, steady, suspending him to reality; his bony fingers clutching desperately for purchase to the human’s striped shirt; his meaty body tightening around the younger male as he rides him rough and fast into the slow hours of the dawn…

The teenager sighs and, with a yawn, pulls the lethargic skeleton closer to his chest. Sans is already fast asleep by the time he decides that for tonight, at least, one part of his curiosity has been sated.

The others can wait.


End file.
